


The Journey

by 2Nienna2



Category: Don't Pay the Ferryman - Chris de Burgh (Music Video)
Genre: Across Time/Time Skips, Adventure, Gen, POV First Person, Worldbuilding, some creepy/odd magical happenings, very minor F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Nienna2/pseuds/2Nienna2
Summary: A man named Jonas grows up preparing for a journey that he is prophesied to one day have to take. He prepares in a variety of ways, such as memorizing maps and learning at the Temple. When he actually goes on the journey, much has changed, and he has to contend with a cantankerous ferryman.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_rck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/gifts).



> Many thanks to [sherasaidgaywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherasaidgaywrites) for beta-reading! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

I run through the streets. It’s warm, warmer than it was yesterday, and the world is bright. That must mean that it’s getting to be summer. There are lots of people wandering about, going who knows where. I wonder if I could follow them. But then I wouldn’t know where they were taking me, or what they would think when they saw me. Mama says that some people “don’t have all their needs met,” and so they are dangerous. What does it mean for someone to “have all their needs met?” I guess I do. 

I stop to catch my breath and see a roly poly. I pick it up.  It climbs up under my sleeve and tickles me, so I throw it back on the ground . 

I see a market, all filled with brightly colored signs and wooden stands, although a few are metal and stand stronger. Mama told me I could get a snack if I wanted one. I definitely want one. What are my choices? There is watermelon, and little cakes, and pickles.  _ Ooh, pickles!  _ I get a pickle and walk with it. It’s wrapped in a thin piece of paper at the bottom to catch the drips. 

I look up and spot Helena, my neighbor. Helena walks up to me, smiling as she comes closer. 

“Hi!” I say, smiling back

“What are you doing here?” she asks. She always seems amused by something, but I never know what.

“ _ I  _ have the day off,” I say, moving towards her a little. “What about you?”

“My father needs sheep milk.”

“Why?” I ask. “What’s he making this time?”

Helena ponders for a second. “Cheese mostly, I think. And some just to drink. But I might be able to convince him to make a sweetcake or two.”

I help her to carry the cheese home, so that she doesn’t have to come back again. We spend the rest of the afternoon playing in her yard.

* * * * * *

I walk through those same streets with my father. It’s been a few years, and Helena has moved away. He says he’s about to tell me about something gravely important. I try to focus on him instead of on the butterflies that are flying past us. 

“One day you will have to make a journey, the prophets have told your mother and I so. And we need to begin preparing you immediately. Because we have no way of knowing when it will become necessary.”

“What sort of journey?” I ask, suddenly fully at attention.

“A journey to a land that is plentiful, where all our sorrows are healed and whatever we need can be found. But the path to reach it is perilous. Many who have tried to reach it before have failed.”

“Failed as in... died?” I ask.

“Most certainly,” says Father. “Or worse, if the tales I’ve heard are true. But I have a feeling that for your generation success will be absolutely imperative. I  _ can’t _ have you fail. Your training starts tomorrow.”

“Will I have to leave you?” My eyebrow furrows in concern and my lips pull into a frown. 

At this my father smiles sadly. “No, not for a long time, if all goes well. And you know I’ll be supporting you every step of the way. Can I give you a hug?”

I nod.

His arms wrap around me, and I squeeze him back. “I love you so much.” is whispered into my ear.


	2. Chapter 1

I sit in my chair, vaguely annoyed at how low it sits. There are various maps strewn haphazardly around the table. Master Gerontas has gone to get a drink, and I am taking this as a grand opportunity. I know he’ll be upset to see the mess, but I just need to relax for one moment. Besides, maybe cleaning it up will give me a few hours off from  _ memorizing.  _ That’s all I ever do lately. And not just memorizing, but rewriting and redrawing, over and over and over again. Master Gerontas seems to think this will cause the maps to visually stick in my mind forever. I don’t know if that is the case; it seems like I forget everything after a while. But I hope he’s right, because if what they’re all saying is true, these maps may save my life one day. ( _ Hmph. _ Doesn’t make me enjoy them any more.) 

I give up on the chair and lie down on the floor, giving a few seconds for my back to relax. I look up at the ceiling, with all its swirling wooden patterns. It could almost be relaxing. I turn over onto my stomach and fiddle with my fingers, practicing breathing in and out. I wonder what I could do — what I should be doing — for fun. I think of running outside, but what will I do there? The prospect doesn’t hold as much excitement for me as it once did. I settle on reading. Reading is good, reading rarely fails to change my mood. I climb into the attic and choose from my semi-secret stash. Master Gerontas claims he doesn’t know about it, but secretly I think he doesn’t mind. I’ve caught him smiling at me knowingly when I say I don’t feel well. I suppose even he realizes that I need breaks sometimes. I choose a playful, quiet sort of story and read it until I grow sleepy.

I am awoken with a sharp, barking sort of call of, “Jonas! What are you doing there?”

I climb down the ladder. I am indeed feeling much better, so I try to smile brightly and say, “Briefly resting my memory. How about you?”

“Just fine. Just fine. Now where were we?” He gestures at the table.

“I believe we were looking over map B, sir. You were having me judge my approximation in comparison to it and then you were quizzing me on various locations and landscape qualities.”

“Ah yes,” he said.

“But sir? I have to ask. Are we ever going to move on from maps? Like, for example, to ways to actually  _ survive _ in the memorized landscapes? Or, better yet, actually going there for a real life trial?” I try not to let the excitement in my head show.

“Eventually,” he says, drawing out the word like an uncut noodle. “But first you must demonstrate a consistent and unceasing understanding of every location in relation to the others. Getting lost is one of the most common mistakes, and then, well! Then you’ve been defeated before you’ve even started! Can’t have that happen. No, no. So, back to the maps. Show me that you can draw from memory  _ 36.a _ ” — at this he picks up an especially large one — in two days time.”

“What?” I cry. I know it’s useless protesting my assignments. I guess I just… like to give him a hard time? I’m not sure why that is.

“I’m not entirely without care, you know,” says Master Gerontas. “I know you have your books, and I know that sometimes you sneak away, and that you procrastinate profusely. And I give you that, because you’re young, and you’re human and frankly, a rather belligerent one at that. But someday you’ll thank me. And I promise this won’t be forever. And you would do well to think hard on the fact that, all things considered, your situation is not that bad. Far _ , far  _ from being the worst one might expect. So, try to keep your chin up. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, tired of the lecturing. But inside, a part of me agrees.

I go back to studying and drawing my maps. 


	3. Chapter 2

I walk up to the gates of the shining temple. It is on a hill, placed in such a way that I imagine it will frame grandly against the sunset, and the cities which are barely visible behind it. It is tall and columned, and lined with stone. Truly an imposing sight, with bits of metal glinting in the hot sun and bright-white paint in some of the upper areas less touched by the dust and dirt of human activity. 

Both of my parents along with Master Gerontas brought me here, to say goodbye. None of us know for how long. I will study for as long as the priestesses think I need. I may leave on my journey immediately afterwards, or I may, for a time, be able to return home. In truth, I don’t much care. It hasn’t felt like the home I remember fondly from my very early childhood in a long, long time. Of course I love my family and my teachers, very much so. But I’ve grown up more or less isolated, and I don’t… I don’t feel connected to the places anymore? Or at least I think I don’t. I suppose time will tell if that holds true. 

I’m ready, very ready for a new adventure. Even if it’s another step in my training like I know it is, even if I’m stuck in yet another building for most of my time, I have a feeling about this place. There will be other people here, real other people, a community. Maybe I’ll make friends. But at the very least I will be able to observe and I am ready for that. I don’t quite know what to expect. But the thrilling hum of independence and new social interaction is more prominent right now than any fears or loneliness of leaving my family and childhood behind.

“Good luck,” says my mother with a smile. “We’ll miss you.” 

My father nods in agreement and says, “May Life favor you.” I can tell he's nearly crying as he says it.

Master Gerontas tells me that he thinks I’ll find the drawing skills I gained from all those maps he made me reproduce very handy. I trust him, because he has been here before. I’ve tried to get him to explain what it’s like, but he staunchly refuses. Must be some sort of code not to speak of it.

I give them all hugs and walk inside.

* * * * * *

Inside it is much cooler, and darker too. The light only shafts in rarely through the high windows, but I like it. It gives the light a mellow, calming quality. At first there is no one there, and I wonder if I’m supposed to wait or walk forward. I wait, for a few minutes at least, sitting down after a long day of walking to get here. This is it, I think. The great divide between my old and new life. It doesn’t feel so grand, just sitting here. I give myself a minute to imagine eating meals with my fellow students — at least I think there will be others my age. I was never told how many though. And learning unspeakable secrets about the very nature of life! I sure hope it will be more exciting than mapping the Earth was, although I have to admit even that took on a certain satisfaction when done thoroughly and well. And once I was able to put the knowledge into practice, it even became fun.

But I wish I would stop thinking such boring, well-trodden thoughts over and over again. I need to get out of my head.

I simply sit with excitement stirring within me, let it unravel and settle along my spine. 

Just when I'm feeling like I might burst with nerves, I see people coming! It’s a crowd, and doesn’t look to be a particularly organized one, with people milling about, some walking forward and some stopping to chat or to look at the wall art. But it is led by a beautiful, stern but young looking woman with a sun painted on her face and a flowing white dress. She must be a head priestess, or at least of higher status than the people around her. She really is beautiful. I feel like she’s watching me. She turns around and the crowd pulls into shape. They can’t be too scared of her though, I think, or else they wouldn’t have been out of formation at all. Maybe she doesn’t care what they do as long as they’re ready when she asks. That would bode well for me.

The people all do some sort of swaying motion, like a human wave, where one moves out of line and then the next and then they go back in in a moving circular motion, all the way down the line. It is quite impressive. The waves keep getting wider and wider each time they do it, until eventually there are whole circles in between each crest. I wonder if I’m supposed to do something. I could be wrong, but I think the priestess had them do this because she saw me. On instinct I step up and walk towards their waves, and then I walk into one of them, timing myself to enter when it’s most open. Once it’s in I feel it closing around me, and I move fast to enter the next one on the other side. I do this all the way down. It’s strangely comforting, although I feel like it shouldn’t be, all these strange people pulsing around me. At last I make it through the last wave, and I join at the end of the line. The person in front of me, a woman who looks about my age with brown skin and hair in a bun, smiles at me and says, “Well done!” The others shush her, but don’t seem too fussed about it. I smile back. 

I walk in the line for what seems like hours. We go all throughout the temple, down every pathway I see, and then inevitably walk out in some unknown place. I find it fascinating, if long winded. Many of the walls are painted, with laughing, wide strokes or with short, serious and stout ones, with all kinds of colors and images. My favorite room might be the one full of vivacious and colorful lines, all overlapping with each other to create a delightful atmosphere.  _ That  _ room almost reminds me of music. Another wall is filled entirely with dead bodies, each from a different cause. I don’t want to think about what goes on in there. Some rooms are filled with landscapes, including ones unlike any I have ever seen. For example, there is one with buildings so tall they have the appearance of reaching past the ceiling, into the sky, and there are grounds covered up by some grey material. Another room holds houses  _ in the ocean,  _ held up magic or technology, I know not what. I wonder if anything I have seen depicts the place to which I will have to journey one day. As of yet no one has told me what it looks like, nor what it is like. There is a long hallway with walls that seem to make the space shrink and then grow at the slightest glance, and floors which do their very best to disorient the walker. I hope not to have to come back to this hall.

At last we circle back to rooms I recognize, and not too long after that we are in the entrance hallway. From there the Priestess seems to be separating us into groups, going down the line and pointing people in different directions, some moving already before she gets to them. When she comes to me she takes my hand, and we walk. She is not speaking so neither am I. We walk a short distance until we enter a single room, one which I had not seen earlier. The room is pleasantly fragrant, resinous combined with flowery. It must come from the walls, which are painted with vibrant flowers in a forest, some seeming to almost step into the room. She shuts the door behind us with a loud clack. 

She gestures for me to sit on the floor and then sits in front of me. 

“Welcome,” she says. Her voice is cool-toned and orotund. “You will begin training tomorrow. Today you may settle into your room. The temple may be difficult for you to get used to. Not everything we do here will appear to have a purpose to your mind, but remember that there always is one.” At this she pauses for breath, having used her first one for what seemed to me to be an especially long time, especially since she showed no signs of strain. “I have been told that you are prophesied to make the Journey. Your time here will be difficult. You will be tested both physically and mentally. But please do not despair. I do not want you to despair. In fact, there are some rituals which do not work properly if there is not an appropriate level of enthusiasm within the student!” She breathes again. “I want you to enjoy your time, to make friends and acquaintances, to revel in the mysteries you will unearth! As scathing and enervating as the temple can be, it is also your second family, your second home, and you will find there is much love here.”

She takes my hands in hers and rubs them until warmth appears. It seems to slide up my arms, and into my face, down my back. She helps me to stand and leads me to my room, a small smile lighting her face but she speaks no more words.

* * * * * *

I find myself exhausted almost as soon as I enter my room. I wonder if it has something to do with the warmth she gave me. There are two other boys (men?) who introduce themselves as my roommates; one named Anson, the other, Kael. I wonder if they know about the prophecy. I wonder what their lives have been like up to this moment. I rush through my greetings and go to sleep. The bed is soft and warm, more comfortable than I can remember.

* * * * * *

The next morning we all eat breakfast together in a room with glass ceilings. The food is unvaried but well cooked. Anson and Kael have started talking to me, telling me about what they’ve been learning. Apparently there have been a lot of lessons in the proper names of the gods, and all the ways those names can be drawn or symbolized, which is “especially useful for times when one cannot speak.” I wonder about those. I tell them I’m not really planning to become a priest, nor a teacher of any sort. At least I think I’m not. I’ve never had much time to make plans for myself beyond the ever-present preparations for the Journey. 

“Then why are you here?” they ask, almost at the same time. 

“My family sent me,” I say, not sure how much I’m supposed to tell. “I’m preparing for some sort of special event they’ll have me do.” Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. Not that I know much of what the whole truth is.

They nod, apparently used to familially imposed obligations. I change the subject by asking about when we have breaks. 

Breakfast is over before I know it and I am shuffled into a room with the other new initiates. No one else came on the day that I did, but there are a reasonable number of people who have been here for less than a month, and we’re expected to help each other to catch up.

We practice making fires. We’re starting with all the common elements of ritual and knowledge before moving on to actual practice. We’ll have to be careful then, because actual practice can have actual effects. The priestess warned us that there will be times when we mess up and are injured by our practice, but that these times will be the greatest lesson. But for now it’s not too difficult. I’ve made fires before. We’re working on being able to build fires precisely the size that we need, large and small and tiny and towering. My roommates told me that soon we’ll be taught to make them in less than ideal conditions, like in the sand room or the room full of wind. I didn’t see those yesterday. I had thought we went into all the rooms and pathways, but I’m slowly realizing there are many more, hidden or mazelike, found from unexpected places.

I can’t wait to explore them.

* * * * * *

The Priestess speaks with me alone sometimes. In addition to my normal training, she is teaching me what she knows about the land beyond the ocean. She says it is the home of the gods to whom we pray, or at least most of them, and that they have been known to accept pleas from people such as us when those pleas are solemnly delivered, with feeling and respect. Sometimes anyway. They have also been known to turn away requesters who, by all written accounts, did everything right. 

It’s hard to know because most of these cases were a long time ago and thus we cannot say how much is fact and how much is myth. And of course any ‘fact’ is colored by who wrote it. Sometimes when I’m with her I just read the records, and she helps me to parse them out. We look for patterns, characteristics that might make me more favorable. It feels strange to be planning this out so thoroughly when I don’t even know what I will be asking for, but she trusts the prophets, as everyone in my life does, so I suppose I do too. At any rate it is better to be over prepared and overly knowledgeable about the arts of orison and enchantment than the other way around, even if somehow the prophecy turns out not to be true. But then if that is the case, how do I know if any of the things I’m learning are true? Or, I know that they have truth to them, because I have experienced their very real effects. But how do I know that they exist within the framework I am being taught they exist in? I guess there is really no way for me to know. But I am having fun being here — just interacting with others my age, even in the smallest ways, still makes me slightly giddy — and I am doing real things, and I think that that is enough.

Along with the things the Priestess teaches me about past examples of pleas made to the gods, she teaches me about the land across the water itself, about the purported properties of its soils, and about the strange animals that are said to inhabit it. Even if I can’t convince the gods, she says, I might be able to benefit us by bringing back a worthy seeming plant or other substance. She cautions against me bringing animals, as there’s no way of knowing what they can do, how they’d behave once taken off their native land, or, in fact, what they truly are. This risk is still there with plants of course — they are as alive as anything else. But the risk is less, and there seem to have been some examples of this happening before, leading to great medical advancements. 

“If it’s so great,” I say, “then why doesn’t everyone go there? If this land has everything we need, then why do we leave it for the gods?”

“Foolish!” the Priestess proclaims. “We only send those whom the gods-sent visions have told us should be sent. For the gods grant us only what we need in the time that we need it. They know better than us, and they are stronger than us. If we were to just take and take… well that would be our last downfall.”

I nod along, and do not raise the subject again, but I can’t help but wonder, just a little. The gods seem awfully controlling. And the priestesses go right along with it by only sharing what they know with a select few. If a number of people have been there, why don’t we know precisely what it’s like, and why can’t everyone access their accounts? But maybe if we all knew as much as the priestesses do, we would cease to function. Maybe we wouldn’t be able to stand it. I don’t know. But I listen a little more critically as time goes by.


	4. Chapter 3

It is nearly thirty years since my first day at the temple. I can scarcely believe how the time has gone. But I have to believe it, because the world has changed since then.  _ I  _ have changed since then. Agatha stands with me looking out a window on the top floor of the temple. Her elbows are on the window sill. The landscape was always desertic, but lately it has been raining more and more. The grounds are flooded. I don’t know how we’ll access supplies for our rituals, or even food, in the coming days. The Priestess tells me I’ll have to leave soon. I can see why.

We wait out the storm in this room with sunny, forested walls. Some of the others are performing rituals, with elaborate, multi-person formations set up, but I am tired. I rest on the floor, curled upon myself, until I wake and spend the time kissing Agatha and melting into her warmth. We stay up there for a few days.

Once the waters recede, I go searching for my family. We all do. I haven’t seen them in years. I walk through the rain soaked, muddy streets, all the way to my childhood home. Agatha comes with me. I don’t see why she shouldn’t meet my family, and I hers, even if I have to leave her soon. I hide my face. I don’t think I want to be recognized by any random person in my village.

I don’t know why but I’m crying. Nothing looks the same. Most of the colors are faded and the metal rusted. New streets are here in place of trees. Everything is soggy. Agatha holds my arms but says nothing. Maybe she understands better than I do. 

I knock on the door of what used to be my home. I don’t feel quite present. I wait. We wait; she hugs me tight. The door opens and we are ushered in. It’s warmer inside, and darker, a yellow-orange haze. I’m not sure how much of the feeling is the room and how much is me. I sit on the springy couch. There is an old man — my father. I stare at him. He seems to have noticed my malaisic stupor and says quite loudly, “Welcome home!”

I watch his attempts to be cheerful. There’s no reason not to be, I tell myself. I smile back. “How are you?” I say, and the spell is somewhat broken.

“Not great,” he says, slowing down from what for him must have been the rush of first greetings. “I haven’t had food in two days beyond the grasses in the yard because I haven’t been able to leave. And… it’s just me.”

“Oh, father,” I say, falling back into old patterns, taking his arms. “I still love you so much,” I say. I don’t mention that I had almost forgotten. Nor do I mention the inspissated sadness I felt at returning home, or at being gone for so long, I don’t know which.

I feel okay. Somehow I feel okay, comforting him. No longer in this weird,  _ not right _ place. Although of course it’s not right that my mother is gone. But this feeling — this being together — this is right.

“ _ When?” _ I ask. 

“A few years ago,” he says. “She went on a journey and didn’t come back.”

“I’ll have to go on a journey soon,” I say. “The one you’ve prepared me so well for.” I gently stroke his back. “I think it will help with the… whatever this is,” I gesture outside. 

“I don’t know,” says Father. “I fear the rain might put this whole area underwater.”

“I can’t let that happen,” I say. “It was only today I realized how much it stuck in my memory, how beautiful it is. Or, that’s not exactly the right word, but how close to my core. How affecting. I’m sure it’s much more so for you.” I suddenly look out to see if Agatha is still here. She is, but looking off to the side, lost in her own thoughts. I love her so much.

“Father, this is Agatha,” I say. “She’s…”

“Hopefully his wife!” Agatha chimes in.

“You hadn’t asked me that yet!” I squeak. 

“I know,” she responds. “I didn’t need to. But now I’m so glad I did.” 

“Yes. Of course.” Discomfort now mostly lifted off, I feel alive and bright.

We sit together all night, wrapped up in blankets, the three of us. Catching up on all the things we’ve missed. In a few days we will search for her family, and after that she will return to the temple. I will talk to the head priestess. But I think it’s almost time for me to go. Agatha knows. She will pray on my behalf, she says, once I get going. But she’ll be okay having some time on her own. For all of our sakes, I hope it is only a little time.


	5. Chapter 4

I run. I run as fast as I can. I don’t think anyone is following me, although I have heard of strange creatures popping up since the storm. But I know that I have to go now. There is no time to waste. I repeat the Priestess’ chants aloud. The clouds are beautiful today, swirling. I don’t know why I notice this except that it’s something to look at besides sand and stone. 

Many of the trees that once surrounded us fell over in the storm and were carted away, which ironically had the effect of making the landscape even more desertic. True dessert will be found about six miles north, and that is where the real challenge starts. 

The Priestess has partially melded her mind to mine, through a painful and embarrassing process involving burning and holding our faces together. My forehead is bandaged from it, but it worked. She is whispering the names of the gods — most likely to protect me — like a mantra, and I have the strange sensation of her voice echoing around me, not just in my head but of the land itself. I have a pack full of water, with a few storable foods and with coins in various hidden pockets, so that one can be emptied without revealing the others. It is early morning, timed so that I should reach the hottest deserts by nightfall. There is not much of anything to do but listen to the Priestess. These lands are still very familiar to me. So I chant along with her, quietly and then loud, in, out, in out, a curving sound. One step after the next and still I am not afraid. At least, not of the present. I am a bit afraid of the Ferryman, because although I’ve had many lessons, negotiation has never been my strongest point.

* * * * * *

I see the remains of cities. I shiver to think what might have happened to them. I hear a dog, or likely not a dog, as the sound is strange, magnified, stretched out. I keep running. What else can I do? I want to close my eyes when I see it coming close to me, not like any animal I’ve ever seen. I don’t think that will help. I stare at it and draw a circle in the sand, dropping a coin. I hope it’s enough, and hope it won’t bind me in some immeasurable way. It is hard to keep going, but I force myself to do so and  _ it  _ does not follow.

* * * * * *

I see the ocean in the distance. The night is misty and dark, and it’s very beautiful somehow, more beautiful than the day. The night is always spoken of as being scary, but everything seems clear here. What doesn’t need to be seen is not seen, only what’s strictly necessary, and the light from the moon seems like a guide instead of something impersonal and spread out. There is one other light. It’s a lantern by the shore of the sea, with light diffused by the mist, out of place seeming although it must have been planted by someone. Behind it, barely visible in the glare, is a ship, off-white sails hanging down in this windless night. The hull is painted a faded carmine red. There is an old man standing in front of it, with long hair peeking out of his bunched up hood and a pinched face. I walk up to him slowly, trying not to look as frantic as I’ve felt all day. 

“Hello,” I say, working up a cheerful tone that I hope is not tinged with anxiety. “I need to travel. To the Other Place.” He nods. 

“You have means to pay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” I say. “We’ll settle that later, once we arrive. You can get me there, can’t you?”

He nods again, looking resigned. “Let’s leave tonight,” I say, continuing with the commanding tone. He steps to the side, allowing me to climb onto the ship, which I do, somewhat unsteadily. Now there’s no turning back, I think, as he climbs on and unties the slipknot. He moves to the bow. I move out of the way, towards the back, and watch the land get farther away. I have no way of knowing how long it will be until I see anything like it again; no one has catalogued the length of the journey. I suppose I could ask him, but I’d rather not press my luck so I avoid conversation as much as possible.

I connect with the Priestess in my mind, telling her it was a success. She feeds me with warmth and blessings. She reminds me not to pay the Ferryman again, though I’ve been told this before many times. She tells me the temptation may become greater, and wishes me luck. I send her an image of the  _ thing  _ I saw earlier. She shudders and tells me she’ll send people out to look for it. I wish her goodnight.

I lie down and try to sleep, no proper beds and only a musty blanket. I should probably go to the small inside area, but the open air is the last comfort I have. A dizziness has been mounting in me since I stepped on the ship. Nothing to do but wait it out, I think. I toss and turn, watching the stars and eventually getting lost in them as I become more tired. Sometimes I sneak a glance at the Ferryman, who appears not to move from his spot at the rudder, almost statue-like. After a while I see that we have stopped and the Ferryman has gone to bed. Much better, I think.

The next day he wakes me up with biscuits, sardines, and some wine. It’s a better meal than I expected. The dizziness has lessened somewhat, fading to a persistent hum rather than an overwhelming sensation. I hope it continues to fade. After we eat I try to help with the ship, admittedly somewhat begrudgingly if only because the Ferryman makes me more uneasy than I already am. He makes it clear to me, somewhat rudely, that this is a small ship and he is perfectly able to control it himself. So I am left to my own devices. At first this is a relief; I can relax! I sit and watch the water all day, or walk back and forth, or hide my face and dream. Most of my life I’ve had things I must do, so being here takes some getting used to. I remind myself that I can’t become soft and complacent, that I must still be on guard, that this may turn out to be the biggest test. I think of Agatha. I wonder if she’s thinking of me. The free time becomes dull faster than I had hoped. A sense of dreariness settles on me. I’m not complaining though. It’s still better than dread. The waters all look much the same as they did when we first set off, although I had rarely seen the sea before then, so there’s still a little bit of wonder to them. Their movement reminds me of some of the exercises I did with other people at the temple, especially when I was young. That world seems so distant now. 

On the fourth day it rains, and I can almost cry. I remember sitting and watching the rain with Agatha, fully dry, and I remember walking out with it pelting my face, searching for places which no longer existed or which were in the process of decay. But it feels refreshing now, and soothing in a way I can’t quite place. It feels like a bit of home coming with me, or like coming to a new home, I know not which. It forces me to go inside for a little while.

* * * * * *

As I watch the water, I see… something. It’s white and looks almost wooden, but it’s not. It’s strong and straight up, but curving a little at the edges. It’s moving. I realize it’s a bone. It’s almost like it’s dancing, dancing to some sort of music I can’t hear. I watch it, transfixed, and remember to send the priestess to watch. More bones float up, lots and lots of them, until they form the shape of a skeleton, still dancing individually. I hope they (or is this an it, a single organism?) don’t come towards us! I start to see pieces of skin, torn and bloodied, as if they were ripped apart. What  _ happened  _ to this person? People? What if the bones are a warning? But what if they’re not real at all? People are certainly known to have hallucinations when they’ve been at sea for a long time. At least they don’t appear to be coming towards us. 

On a strange impulse I try to dance along with them, and feel a shiver run through me. The pieces of skin are inching towards the skeleton. I suddenly become very still, wondering if this will affect them. At first it doesn’t, but then they seem to slow. Not stop, just slow. I don’t think the Ferryman has seen them. Or if he has, he’s given no sign. I walk up to him and point them out. 

His already pinched face becomes even more so and he says, “Don’t _ talk _ to me about that. Go away.”

When I look back at the water the bones are gone, but now I see the face of a woman I don’t recognize, with black hair all flowing. She calls out to me, “Jump in!” and I can hear the excitement in her voice. I could almost breathe a sigh of relief, seeing that she is not looking out for me. That means I can ignore her, that maybe I don’t have to watch. She dives, and then soars up. I turn around and close my eyes.

Later that night the waters start to pick up, rocking us more, and I feel myself getting sick again. I see something like the bones again, but this time they are just what look like tendons, and blood in the water. They’re not coming together this time, just swaying separately. I get some water to drink and try to sleep.


	6. Chapter 5

The next day when I wake I don’t see any skeletons or pieces of skin. I hope they won’t come back, but, well, they were kind of fascinating. I sketch them in my notebook. Maybe I’ll burn it later and in doing so discover something about them. I eat my salted meat near the Ferryman. Normally I would go to the other side of the ship, but after his outburst yesterday I am somewhat curious. “What is your name?” I ask him.

He looks up, surprised. “That’s not for you to know. Ferryman is the only name I have that’s of any value anymore.” He puts on a smile. “I’ll tell you my name if you pay me now.” 

“No,” I say.

“Your loss.”

Is he being… playful? It’s not much, but I’ve never heard him speak this much before. At least he’s not being overly insistent about the pay. “I’m sorry for avoiding you so much,” I say. “Would you like to tell me about your life? I can tell you about mine.” 

The Ferryman looks at me for a minute and then he says, “I have been captaining this ship for thousands of years. This world” — he points around — “is not the one I knew and loved. Back and forth, back and forth — I would do almost anything to get off of here.”

“I was born in a desert town,” I say. “It was bustling — filled with people and color. I was sent to the temple as a teenager to prepare for this journey, and for what I’ll do when I get across. When I came back to my old town, nothing was the same. It’s been flooding now. It’s been flooding, or almost flooding, for a little while now. We fear it might all get washed away. And there are some sort of strange and allegedly dangerous creatures now. Those are the reasons I was sent. They think that when I get…  _ there  _ — I gesture ahead — I’ll be able to save us.  _ If  _ it even works,  _ if  _ I can even get back.”

“Well I wish you the best of luck,” says the Ferryman.

“Same to you,” I respond. After a minute I say, “Would you tell me more about your life sometime?”

He looks a little bit sad. “I don’t know how much I can tell you. But you are the first person who has asked me in a long time.”

The next day I try to stand near him. I recreate a game I would sometimes play at the temple. I make it with bits of wood that have been peeling off of our one table for ages, and I set them up criss-crossing each other with little pieces of paper. I teach it to the Ferryman after we eat that night, and he says it is, “mildly enjoyable.” Fair assessment, that.


	7. Chapter 6

A few weeks later, I wake up to absolutely pouring rain and a rocking more intense than any I have felt yet. The waters look  _ so  _ deep and vast. It’s almost wondrous — I would stand and stare at it if I wasn’t afraid for my life. Sometimes when I’m dreaming I end up in crazy weather, but if I know I dream I can stand out in it and be carried along by the currents, knowing I am not in danger. I wish I could do that now. I pinch my nose and try to breathe, seeing if there is any chance that I’m dreaming. But I’m not, and so I go to wake the Ferryman. It is still dark, and the moon is small, so the darkness is even more stark.

“We need to do something,” I say. When he still doesn’t wake up, I lightly strike his face. He opens his eyes. “We need to do something,” I repeat. “I don’t know what exactly, but this storm is really strong.” He looks around, and bursts up. I move out of his way. His often stoic face looks afraid. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to pay me now,” he says. “It is the only way I can be sure I’ll get myself, and thus you, to the other side.”

I think about this for a minute. “What do you mean it’s the only way? And why should I trust you? My entire life of training, I’ve been told the one thing I must not do is pay you until we’ve landed. How do I know you’re not making this up? How do I know you haven’t been making everything up, just to gain my sympathy for if this moment should occur?”

“You don’t,” he says. “But I’m all you have, here and in this moment, and your life is in my hands. I know you have that Priestess or whoever in your mind, telling you what to do—”

_ “Guiding  _ me, and clearing a path for me with the gods,” I intercut.

“The gods?” he says. “The gods never forgive. And they only give their mercy on a whim, when they feel like it. I don’t think they are any better than we are.” But at this a sharp crack of lightning splits the sky, making me squint, and the Ferryman seems to be pulled back into motion. “ _ Please,”  _ he says. “Pay me.” His face freezes up. “I may  _ never  _ leave here if you don’t.” 

And it’s the hardest thing I’ve done yet, but I say no. I can’t just throw away all that I have been taught, and thus all the experiences and people and places I have loved, not just like that, especially not now. It’s too much to process and we have to keep moving. But I see the way he nearly shakes with fear and I want to give in, I  _ do,  _ because I have grown to love him too. Instead I run to pull out extra sails, and busy myself with pouring out buckets of water and trying to balance the ship.

I wonder if I will drown. I never thought too much about the actual on the sea part of the journey before I left. At least not in terms of danger from the sea itself. I thought I would be protected from that, protected by the Priestess’ calming fires and… I guess by my own strength of will? I see now how foolish that was. I trained for  _ every other little aspect  _ of the journey. Not that I don’t know my way around the ship, or the practical things I need to do to try to keep it steady. But it was the emotional part that I never prepared for, the keeping going in the face of possible death. And I am used to that in some ways; we faced death in some of the rituals we did in the temple. But it’s not quite the same as this, out here, isolated, despite the person near me and the Priestess’ voice and the voices in my mind, because if we get pulled down it will just be me, and I have  _ no idea  _ what I’ll find. I sort of double over; tensed. I realize I can’t do that because I’ll be pulled off my feet, battered all around. Far from steady, I try to keep moving and to clear my head. I stay away from the Ferryman.

I am soaked from the rain and from the waves that keep climbing up to us, and dizzy and sore from when I’ve fallen over or been bumped into things by the movement of the ship. I go inside and just curl up on the floor, needing to not be standing for a moment. When I close my eyes I see — can almost feel — a warm fire, with the Priestess’ gentle gaze behind it, and I can’t help but be comforted, even if her image is now tainted by uncomfortable unsurety about who I should trust. I guess that’s okay. Once I’ve relaxed into the image (I’m not sure how long it takes) I get up and look out at the storm. It has abated somewhat! It is still there, but it’s not quite as violent.

I walk a little bit closer to the Ferryman. I think I’ve always avoided people when I’ve been afraid of dealing with them, rationalizing it as protecting myself, which, in a way it is. But I am so afraid of conflict that I shut people out sometimes, or shut myself out, and if we get out of this storm alive, I don’t want to do that anymore. Even if it scares me.


	8. Chapter 7

At last the storm calms down. It is such a relief to be steady that we stay put for a bit. But soon enough we get going, and it’s not too many days after that when I see land ahead! Actual land! It is warmer now, and brightly sunny. I think of the Priestess and all her sun spells. We anchor the ship and I step out into the shallow, lapping water. I feel very unsteady at first, so I sit down on the dirt mixed with sand. It feels awfully ordinary for a land purported to be as magical as they have told me. It is a little disappointing. I don’t see any plants or trees, and I certainly don’t see any animals. But hopefully I will find such things when I move farther away from the shore. I see that the Ferryman hasn’t moved from his spot on the ship, so I slowly stand up and walk back to him. 

I realize I had forgotten my bag on the ship, so I climb back on to get it. I am surprised to find that I already feel a little nostalgic, although I remind myself that if all goes well I have an entire return journey to “look forward to,” a return journey which probably will not be the most pleasant. 

“I guess I need to pay you now,” I say. I pause for a moment. “Is there… is there a way you could explain to me what you need? Is there a way I can help you without hurting myself?” 

“I don’t know,” says the Ferryman. “But I suppose I can tell you more of my story, before you go. Maybe it will teach you caution.” He sits down. “I was very young,” he says. “And it was a different world, as I told you before. Some of the gods would actually come to see us. There was a war going on, mostly conducted on the sea, and I wanted no part. But a lot of the people in my family were trained fighters, and they dragged me along. They taught me how to sail a ship, although they did it rather clumsily since there was not much time, and suddenly we were out on the water. They still helped me then, of course, but I was kind of thrust into the job, so I learned quickly. There were different stories then, different tensions, even some different languages. Anyway.” He laughs nervously. “I don’t know why I’m being so relaxed. I never talk about this. Maybe it’s the fresh air and the fact that we just escaped from a violent storm; I don’t feel much like myself. But I made a terrible mistake. I helped someone who I absolutely should not have helped, someone who did not have our best interests in mind. And my parents and other family members were killed for it. Sometimes I see them in the water. And it wasn’t just my family either; most of us were killed, all because of my stupid,  _ stupid  _ mistake.

The sea god saw what I had done and for  _ some  _ reason, he took a personal interest in it, was adamant that I needed to learn. So he made me caretaker for this ship, forever bringing people back and forth between the land of the gods and their own lands. I am physically unable to walk beyond the lamp near your home, or even to step off the ship here.

“What happens if you try?” I ask.

“It’s like there is a wall,” he says. “And I have splitting headaches afterwards, and sometimes people see me and shout at me. I think I might look different than I actually do when I try to move beyond my bonds. Stories spread far and wide about how untrustworthy I was. I’m not sure how they were started, but I suspect it was the gods. The stories were practically canonized. So now I have made myself into that figure.”

“What is it with the coins?” I ask. “That’s not a myth, surely.”

“It’s not,” he says, dragging out the ‘not‘ just slightly. “The conditions are that if I can get anyone to pay me before reaching the opposite side, despite having been made to seem untrustworthy by just about every story, that person will be forced into my role and I will be free, to die or to start a new life. But if I die while on the water without having been given coins by another, I am truly stuck under the waves for eternity, with no chance of being freed and unable to interact with the others killed at sea. In that situation, the ship wanders as it pleases, picking up passengers without a captain to guide it. That’s why I made one last effort before the storm.”

“And you wanted me to be stuck out there?”

“Of course not,” said the Ferryman. “But I have been journeying long enough on that water, listening to voices so close and yet so unreachable, that I want to leave more than I want to help you. I am sorry.”

“I guess I understand,” I say. “I ultimately care more about myself and my people than I do about your plight. But —” I give him a short hug “ — I’ll try to find a way to help you. There must be something we can do. I think I need to attempt to achieve the mission I set out on first, but I will mention you too. And if that doesn’t work I can look around for…. well, there must be  _ something  _ here that can help. But for now…” I pull out the coins from my bag. “Here is payment. I am not sure what you can do with it.”

“Truthfully, sometimes I throw it in the sea,” says the Ferryman. “But there are some places where I have a little more range of movement than others, because I pick up people all around the world you know, so in those places I might stock up on food or buy something fun such as more paper.”

“That’s interesting,” I say. “Somehow I thought you were always where I found you.” 

“Oh, no,” he says. “I have been there for a little while, waiting for you, but certainly not for my entire time as Ferryman.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go now,” I say, not sure how to bring the mood into one of leaving. “I might actually miss you.” 

“Be very careful,” the Ferryman says. “May it go as you hope!”


	9. Chapter 8

I trudge through the dirt-sand. It is not one or the other, but a mix of the two, the darker dirt swirling in the pale sand. I wonder how it came to be like that, if the dirt was swept down or the sand was swept up. It goes on and on in front of me, so I just walk. I know I am probably supposed to be careful, and to walk delicately. I know that my behavior might be being scrutinized at this very moment. Or it might not be. This is the one part of the journey for which very little preparation could be done. There certainly weren’t any comprehensive maps for me to memorize. It has been as much a land of imagination as a land of physical space. I wonder if that’s part of it. Maybe it changes with who is looking, I’ve heard of things like that…

I look behind me and see the strangest thing. My footprints are disappearing. I suppose they want this land to look untouched. I can only see the sea as a distant horizon, so I know I’ve been walking for a while. The air is also less salty. I feel oddly quiet internally, and I realize why. I try to tune in to the Priestess in my mind, remembering her fire, but I cannot hear or see her. Maybe she can’t reach me here. Or maybe something happened to her. I don’t want to think about that, I hope it is the former.

I see a plant, with juicy looking leaves and little spikes on either side. It must be some sort of succulent. And hopefully a sign that the landscape is changing. I rub my finger across the non-spiky middle, feeling its smoothness. The ground is becoming less sandy the farther I walk. It’s actually slightly wet though, so I wonder if there is a river that overflows. I change my direction, moving a bit to the side, hoping to find that river. I am not sure quite what I’m looking for. I suppose for a city of the gods. But that seems unlikely in this dull landscape, which is why I find the thought of a possible river encouraging. I start to see more plants, some familiar and some very odd. There is one almost as large as I am, with blue-tinted flowers and a curving but strong looking stem. Finally I see trees ahead, and grassy fields. I start running. I’m not sure why, it just feels good to move through and out of the place where I have been. And to move in general, after being on the ship for so long. The ground becomes softer, almost bouncy. I try jumping on it and to my surprise find that I can move quite high. Then I have a thought. Maybe I could do this near a tree and get a better look around! 

So I walk close to a tree, but with a little room for moving forward, and jump up, grabbing onto a branch. I am hanging there, and I am not very steady. I hold on tightly as I try to turn myself around. After a few tries, I am able to sit up on the branch. I hug the trunk and reach up to a higher branch, pulling myself to standing. I can’t reach the branch above me. But there’s one on the other side of the tree only slightly higher than where I am now, so I carefully inch around and grab onto it, swinging my legs up to hold me in place. I climb up again and look out. I can see a little bit, but my vision is blocked by the leaves and some offshooting branches, and I see a better place above me. I can climb directly to this one because there’s a pockmark that I can use as a foothold. I keep climbing up until I’m as far as I can get. I hold the leaves as many leaves behind me as I can and look out. _Wow._ I see a flowing river that is at one point crossed by a road. And the river and road alike lead to a large city. For almost the first time, I wonder if there are people here and not just gods. Or perhaps more gods than we ever imagined possible. The city is filled with giant buildings that nearly reach the clouds, much larger than any I have ever seen. _Nearly reach the clouds._ I realize I have seen this, or at least bits and pieces of this, on the wall in one of the rooms of the Temple. How much else of this land have I seen before? And if we’ve seen it, I wonder if we could make something similar. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that the walls had images of this place? Maybe they didn’t know?

In the city, there are bridges that go straight through the air, connecting one building to another, and there are lots of what I think are plants, or at least something green, growing all over the places, many looking like they were specially planted because they are not somewhere where anything would normally grow. But I will have time to ogle the city once I get there, I realize. For now I need to focus on carving a path. The easiest choice would be to follow the river I think, although if I follow the road maybe I could meet someone who can help. Still, the river feels safer to me, and oddly looks to be the straighter and thus faster path. I note its direction in my mind.

Could I just jump down? Maybe if I did, I would bounce along. That’s a funny image, me just bouncing forward, but it’s too tempting not to try. I climb down to a much lower branch and sit to be out of the way of any leaves. I take a deep breath and push off. I see the ground coming closer and crouch, hitting it with a slight pain, but no sooner than I reach the ground I am up again, moving forward at an impressive rate. I keep up the bouncing for quite some time, although of course I don’t get as much momentum as I did jumping from the tree. Still, this is more fun than I’ve had in a while. The ground gradually gets less springy, so I start walking again, moving in the direction of the river. I am moderately winded. 

The air starts to smell resinous, and I know this smell, it is just like the room where I would privately meet with the Priestess! _Wow_. I pause for a minute and take it in. It brings back all sorts of memories. It must mean the trees in front of me are pine trees. The ones I climbed on were something else, I don’t know what. I’ve never actually seen a pine tree before except in the paintings, but I’ve read about them. And I see the river! It’s quite beautiful, a bit larger than I was expecting actually. But of course that’s what seeing things from a distance and from above will do. If the river seems large, it must be that the city will seem utterly enormous when I reach it!

I walk alongside the river for a while, just relaxing. I haven’t seen anyone resembling a person, or even an animal really. I’ve seen a few insects and heard some birds. I have yet to even see any fish. But it’s lovely and quiet, and making me feel almost sleepy. I guess it’s just taking some time to get reacquainted with having no voice in my mind. Often the Priestess’ mantras would play even when I wasn’t paying attention, like a steady beat that I moved around to. But it’s kind of… _nice_ , just being quiet.

I step into the water, enjoying its coolness on my feet, even if my shoes will stay wet. When I get closer to the city, I start to see more signs of life. There are people around me whose images never quite become clear, and some sort of creature with multiple heads. The blurriness kind of freaks me out, but I keep walking. If I can just focus on the landscape, it is an extraordinary place. I feel small looking at the buildings. Which one am I supposed to enter? Is that part of the test? There are enormously tall ones, which defy understanding in the way they pile up and up. There is one that is connected to a tree. But there is one that is wider, and reminds me vaguely of the temple. It has steps leading up to it and looks sort of inviting because of the warm color palette. I hope I’m making the right decision, and walk up the steps.

I knock.


End file.
